An Itch Only She Could Scratch
by Queen of the Scoubies
Summary: “I have an itch,” mumbled a tall boy to himself as he walked the shadowed corridors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, “An itch only Granger can scratch”
1. Chapter 1

"I have an itch," mumbled a tall boy to himself as he walked the shadowed corridors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, "An itch only Granger can scratch"

He had been denying this for weeks, months even, and yet it slipped out from between his lips as smooth as his silken bed sheets rubbed against his bare skin. For hours every day he had been telling himself that these feelings were untrue, that they would fade as do the minutes of the day. There were times when he wanted to tell her; times that he wanted to rip his heart from his chest; times he just wanted to have his way with her.

When she looked at him, he felt like he was alive. His breath would catch in his throat, his heart would race; he would feel himself grow in anticipation that this beauty would one day be his own. Every time he saw her, her chestnut-brown hair would be shining, even in the dimmest of lights, and when he looked into her caramel-brown eyes he would be drawn in by their depth. Her perfect face was never blemished by products; her lips never tainted with artificial colour; her eyelids never weighed down with eye shadows, or her eyelashes soiled by over-applied mascara. She always wore her clothes with pride, never revealing more than should be, and this separated her from the rest.

He knew he meant something to her, he could tell by the way she looked at him. She was never love struck by his beauty, never hung around him giggling at his poorest jokes and sighing at his lightest compliments. Instead she looked at him with despair and distaste in her expressive eyes. Her beautiful eyes would never look upon him with admiration, never cast a bright light around him, but view him in shadows, dark lights that showed him only as the ferret that she hated.

For this reason, he craved for her attention, for those brief moments that they would speak, and despite the harshness of her words, they were special to him. Her voice sounded like gold to him, it was so rare, so precious that he yearned to hear it; nothing else in this world could sound like it; nothing else could create that tingling feeling deep within his stomach as the sound of her voice could. It sounded beautiful no matter how she used it, whether she snarled, spat, laughed, screamed, screeched, squealed or yelled; every tone was harmonious to his ears. He dreamed of the day when she would laugh with him, when she would cry at their wedding, when she would scream giving birth to their first child, when she would yell at him to put the garbage out and when she would sit down and they would talk for hours.

He could no longer deny it; he wanted her more than the sun, the moon and the stars. She was like the drink you couldn't put down; she was a drug, and he was addicted to her. With that set in mind, he was out here tonight to capture her heart, to seal her soul with his, to make her realise what he had felt for so long. He wasn't going to push himself on her, he was going to persuade her in the general Slytherin way, he was going to be coy, cunning and devilish. He was going to show her he was the boss, he was going to make her fall in love with him; he was going to give her a love potion.

He had been told many times before that love potions don't create love, just a burning obsession with one person; and that that was good enough for the moment. Maybe after he had done what he wanted, shown her what she could have; she would want him as much as he wants her. One could only hope that she would opt to take the ride of her life and scream to never get off. She would then, only then, be venerable, easy to control, readily his for the keeping.

As footsteps approached, he knew it was her. This was his moment to shine in her eyes, his moment to prove his worthiness; his moment to show her that she could do no better than him. Reaching within his robes, he checked that the chocolates were there and closed his eyes, readying himself for the moment he would see her. Already his heart was racing in the sheer anticipation of seeing the woman of his dreams; he could not bear it if it was not her. The footsteps were nearing, and he stopped breathing, he was frozen in place, unsure of what to do; thoughts of her ignoring him, pretending he didn't exist ran through his mind as he stood there unable to move. Cautiously opening his stormy-grey eyes, he saw her only meters away from himself, suspicion clear in her expressive brown eyes.

"Malfoy!" she spoke sharply, "What are you waiting for? Get going!" she demanded as she took another step closer.

"I — I was waiting for you — Hermione" he stammered, finding that his Malfoy-charm had deserted him, "I was wondering — I wanted to give these to you. You know as a truce."

"What are you up to Malfoy?" she asked as she warily eyed the box of expensive chocolates, "You've hated me for this long and now decide you want forgiveness?"

"Draco. My name's Draco" he started as he pushed the chocolates into her hands, "I'm really sorry for what I've done, please forgive me."

"Mal — Draco — " she started, the expression in her face softening slightly as compassion filled her eyes, "Finish patrolling, then go to your common room."

His heart was still racing like he had run around the lake several times; his hands were shaking as though he had not eaten in a week. He had played his part, he had given her the chocolates, and now she had to complete the process. She had to trust that he was truly remorseful and put those chocolates between her delicate lips. It was her turn to consume that potion that would make her crave him, it was her turn to feel as though she would die every living moment that was not spent with him. All he could do now was sit and wait until she made her move.

_**Six hours later…**_

He was slouched in the chair by the fire in their common room waiting for her to come bursting through her door and into his awaiting arms. The bin contained the empty box of chocolates he had given her earlier, the effects should be setting in; she should wake up soon and want nothing more than to be in his arms. Many times before, he had sat here waiting for this to happen and now it was going to occur, and he didn't want to miss a single moment of it. Every noise made him jump, every whisper made his heart leap into his throat until he heard her door open. Starting to hyperventilate from panic, he struggled to regulate his breathing, he couldn't look to expectant; he wanted every moment of this to be perfect, just like it was in his head.

"Draco? Draco — is that you?" he heard her whisper from what he thought was her bedroom door.

"Hermione?" he asked as he turned around and was met by her angelic face only inches from his own, "Hermione?"

Her name seemed to roll off his tongue and he loved the way it sounded. The dim firelight was caught in the textures of her wild hair as she stood there before him in her pyjamas, enhancing her beauty. Thousands of shadows were cast upon her face and he could have watched the flame flickering in her eyes for the rest of his days. She had made her move, she had eaten the chocolates; she was ultimately his for the taking.

"Draco — I think I love you" she muttered, as she closed the space between them, "I love you — I think —."

Leaning forward to catch her lips in a kiss, he was surprised to find that she immediately deepened it, almost forcefully separating his lips with her tongue. Her hand had found its way to the back of his head and her fingers had wound themselves around locks of his fine blonde hair, this was everything he had imagined it to be. Wrapping his arm around her waist he allowed the other to roam up her shirt and under her bra, his fingers finding and slowly rubbing her nipple. Breaking away from her kiss, he moved his mouth down to her neck and kissed her collarbone, moving slowly upwards and then downwards, licking her flesh, tasting his beauty, occasionally marking her pale skin.

Her moaning brought him only pleasure as he pulled her shirt over her head, exposing the white skin beneath it, and quickly unclasped her bra. Here he could see what he had been pining for; here he could see what he had wanted for so long. He could feel her unbuttoning his shirt and peeling it away from his skin, but he was focused only on her as he pulled off her shorts and revealed her panties. He knew beneath them was what he had ultimately been waiting for, beneath that flimsy piece of material was a part of her that he knew would not be given easily. That was something that he had earned though, something he had waited long enough for.

She had taken off his pants and now he was left in his boxers; and her only in her panties. His hands were rubbing her breasts as she pushed him back onto the couch and straddled him, her hair falling down around her face as she leant forwards over him. As she rubbed herself against him, he felt himself grow unbearably hard and struggled to o calm himself as she pulled his boxers down. Reaching to her hips he hooked his fingers to the sides of her underwear and tugged them from her hips, leaving no restraints except their self-control.

"Draco —" she moaned as he flipped their positions so he was on top of her slim frame and his fingers slipped between the curls between her legs. "Draco —."

As she pulled him closer to herself, she wrapped her legs around his hips and waited with baited breath for him to push himself inside of her. He could feel her warmth so close to him as she waited, poised for him; barely able to contain himself he forced himself to keep control of himself, he wanted to make this moment last. This was the moment of his life and he was not going rush it. He wanted it to last forever, so he slowly, almost painfully, guided himself to where he wanted to be. With deliberation, he slowly pushed himself deeper, watching her face as she gasped with the unexpected pleasure. Pulling out he pushed himself back in again, and again, and again, listening to her moan as his breaths grew ragged.

He wanted more and more, he felt like he could not stop; that itch was not yet scratched. Leaning down, he again caught her lips in a passionate kiss before she rolled over so she was on top of him. Her breathing had not yet calmed and her lips were still swollen from his last attack.

"Hermione—I've wanted you for so long—I don't want to let you go" he muttered as she lowered herself back onto him and rocked gasping his name as she did.

"Draco—you're the only one I need" she gasped after what seemed several long hours and collapsed on top of his chest exhausted.

Wrapping his arms around her waist, he lay there beneath her, content to have her sleeping form on top of him. Watching her face, he was pleased to see a slight smile on her lips, her dreams would not be troubled tonight. As she exhaled, he could feel it on his chest, and he rubbed his hands up and down her back, letting his fingers trail lazily around as he too slowly faded into a deep sedated slumber. For now she had scratched that itch, but soon it would be back, and soon he would want her again. It was only a matter of time before he needed her, before he needed to have his way with her again.

**Hey...this has to be the longest chaptery thingy that I have ever written!! (Over 2000 words!! Wooo! Go me!!!) I hope you liked it and let me know if you want me to continue, cuz I've left it as a one-shot, but I can write more if you want it!! Please review!!!**

**Mwah**

**Queen of the Scoubies**


	2. Chapter 2

"Damn that itch," grumbled the blonde-haired boy as he mounted his Nimbus 2001, "It needs to be scratched — again."

This was the match he had been dreaming of for weeks, what he had been waiting for all year; but it all seemed insignificant now, all he wanted was her. Sitting here, wasting time, he knew he should be pursuing the girl that could scratch this itch, the one girl that could satisfy his intensified hunger, the one he craves for. Instead he was sitting here on his broom, in the cold wind, waiting for the whistle signalling the start of the game; he sits here waiting to lose another match against Gryffindor, he sits here waiting for his doom.

When the whistle was blown, he pushed off hard from ground, taking his frustration out on his eager broom; leaning his slim form into its polished handle as he pushed it further, higher into the sky. Around him the air was cold, the wind freezing as it tore through his slicked back hair and billowed in his robes. His team mates were swerving around him, the bludgers zooming through the air; he could hear the crowd cheering and the commentator's droning voice between the screeches of the wind. Looking down into the crowd, he knew she was down there somewhere, in the masses of Gryffindor red and gold, cheering, but not for him. Never would she cheer for him.

She was the reason for him to keep living the hours of the day; she was the light at the end of the dark, endless tunnel his life had taken. He wanted to look into her eyes as he did last night; he wanted to breathe in her scent and make her his own; he wanted to hold her tightly; he wanted to feel her against his naked chest. He had dreamt for so long about last night; and it had happened so fast, so quickly, he needed it again. When she kissed him, he was in ecstasy; when she touched him, he was the happiest man alive; when she looked at him like she loved him, his heart grew too big for his chest. She was a disease that would never leave him, an addiction that had him hooked, she made him itch.

He was almost desperate to see her, hear her, to know that she was alive and near him. He craved for her scent, and the way she looked at him; he longed to hear her speak his name, and the way she felt against him; he needed above all, for her to love him. He knew though, as he continued to circle the stadium, that it would never be possible, that she would never love him; they were sworn enemies, foes that would never be friends. The strongest love potion could never diminish her distaste, the darkest spell could never bind her; there nothing on this world that could make her his own.

Shifting uncomfortably on his broom, he looked in vain in the dreary grey sky around him for a glint of gold, for the key of getting him off this broom and hopefully into her awaiting arms. If the potion was still working, would she be in green and silver cheering him on? Would she celebrate with him when he won the game? Would she pretend that last night never happened? As these questions ran through his head, the doubts set further in, wedging themselves between his happiest memories, pushing themselves to the front of his mind.

Pulling his broom to a halt, he stopped and looked down at the game playing below him. He watched as Potter flew aimlessly in circles around the pitch, as the Gryffindor team made goal after goal. In the highest stadium, he could see Snape watching with polite interest and Dumbledore fiddling with the end of his beard; McGonagall was now commentating, and his father was there, his blonde hair reflecting the dull sunlight as he glared at the Gryffindor's in the stadium below them. Letting his gaze drop, he focused on the Gryffindor's as they cheered loudly when their winning team scored yet again. Scanning the crowd, he could see no head of bushy brown hair amongst the vivid red locks of her friends, she was not there.

Leaning forward slightly, he started to move again, pushing his broom into a fast pace before pulling up beside the golden boy himself. He, though, looked a mess; his usually messy black hair flying in all directions, his glasses cracked and his face a pale shade of white.

"What do you want Malfoy?" he sneered, his eyes narrowing in annoyance as he spotted the boy hovering on the broom beside him.

"Just wondering if you had caught the snitch yet" he spat back at the boy who had rivalled him for years "—you know since you're both golden and such, I just thought it would be attracted to you"

"Ahhh so that's why you never caught the _golden_ snitch?" Potter retorted "Since you're the Slytherin King and such, gold never would be your colour."

Before the words were out of Potters mouth and into the air around them, he zoomed off, spotting a glint of gold near the Slytherin hoops, on the other side of the pitch, if he caught this, it could be his opportunity to prove to her that he's better than the others. If he caught this snitch he could celebrate with her, just her, in their common room tonight. He wouldn't need to use a potion; she would love him as she did last night. Racing beside him, Potter was trying to match his speed, trying to keep up with him, but not today. Today was the day that he was going to win the match, today was the day he was going to win his girl, today was the day he was going to scratch that itch.

Leaning forwards, he could feel the wind flying through his fingertips; he could hear the snitch buzzing through the air, fighting against the wind as it tried to stay on course. It was at his fingertips, success was inches away; it was all he wanted. Stretching, he pushed his arm further away from his body, his hand expanding, his fingers reaching out, and scooping the snitch from the sky. He had done it, he had succeeded, he had caught the golden snitch, he had made Slytherin history; he had beaten Harry Potter.

_**Two hours later**_

Celebrations surrounded him as he sat in the chair before the fire, shivering, his body covered in a cold sweat as those around him partied. Around his shoulders was a banner; Slytherin colours, green and silver; on his head, the trophy turned upside down. His Quidditch robes were still buttoned securely around his neck, but fell in shreds around him as he shakily got to his boot clad feet.

"Draco! No! You can't leave yet!" several people cried as they tried to push him back into his recently vacated chair "The party's only just started mate!"

"Off" he commanded to the people pushing him down as he watched their hands fall to their sides, "I will be going now, and I will not be stopped"

Pushing his way through the crowds, he headed straight out the door and into the darkened hallways leading to his own common room. He had been waiting to see her all day, waiting to see her reaction to his victory for the past two hours; he wanted to see if the potion was still working. He wanted to look into her eyes, let his hands roam through her hair, he wanted to count the faint freckles blemishing her skin; he wanted to touch her all over. He wanted to kiss her until she passed out from lack of air, he wanted to hug her until she was crushed in his arms; he wanted to sleep beside her; he wanted to be inside of her for the rest of his life.

Clambering through the deserted corridors, he could still hear the faint celebrations of his fellow Slytherin housemates as he neared his own common room. He hadn't even seen her, and yet, his heart was racing in his chest, and his hands were shaking like leaves in the autumn winds. As he neared the portrait that led to her, he paused, thoughts streaming through his head, negativity pushing its way to the forefront of his mind. Would her beautiful eyes glaze over in anger when she sees him? Would her hair frizzle with electricity as she stood with her arms folded glaring in his direction? Would she hate him for beating her best friend?

Breathing deeply, he looked at the portrait and mumbled the password, not knowing what to expect waiting for him. Holding his head high in Malfoy pride, he stepped through the dimly lit passageway and into the spacious common room, suspiciously looking around the room but not noticing anything different. The fire was burning, the couches empty, the books were put in their place and their mess from last night was cleaned up; the common room was spotlessly perfect. Disappointment shook through him, his elevated heart dropped as though it was filled with lead; looking down at his feet he trudged through to his room, his feet dragging with every step.

"Draco? Draco—is that you?" he heard as a door open slightly and heard her footsteps on the floor.

Spinning around, he felt his pulse quicken and his eyes grow large. She was there, she didn't hate him, she didn't despise him; she looked like she still liked him. Her hair was falling in streams down her back and her caramel-brown eyes were focused on him; her lips looked full and soft almost asking for him to kiss them.

"Hermione?" he asked as she stepped closer, stopping only feet from himself.

"What happened? You look sick!" she exclaimed before grabbing his hand and leading him to the nearby couch and pushing him onto it, "Lie down so I can fix you"

Relenting to the gentle pressure she had placed on his shoulders, he lowered himself onto the soft cushions of the couch, and closed his eyes, almost instantly feeling himself relax. He could feel her eyes critically assessing every part of his body, he could imagine her eyebrows furrowed in concentration as she determined what to do, whether she should touch him or leave him be. Before long, he felt her hand on his forehead, feeling for his temperature and not long after a damp cloth replaced it, cooling his heated body. Breathing deeply, he listened to her move around him, and sit on the carpeted floor nearby.

After what seemed hours, he opened his eyes after hearing her sigh and slightly mumble to herself, and saw her sitting on the floor by his head reading a text book; her quill scratching on the parchment as she scribbled down notes. Reaching out he stroked her long hair, loving the way it felt in his hand as it moved silkily over his palm, and seemed to just flow through his fingers when she swung her head around to look at him. Her eyes, full of shock, focused on his own before she stood and leaned down, pressing her soft lips firmly against his own. Looking away, she took the cloth from his forehead and walked away, through into another room. As she left his sight, he reached up, putting his fingertips to his lips, he could still feel her lips upon his own. Despite shivering as though he had walked through the snow with no coat on, he craved for her company; he wanted her close to him.

Feeling suddenly hot, he sat up and pulled off the shirt beneath his robes and lay back down, letting his arms rest crossed loosely on his stomach. Keeping his eyes open despite the incomprehensive weight of his eyelids, he waited for her to come back, watching the doorway she had gone through; already he missed her company, just her simple presence. He was tempted to call out her name; to ask her where she went; to ask her when she was coming back; but that would be low, make her think he was desperate. No he wasn't desperate, he just had an itch that he alone could not scratch; not another single girl but her could scratch it. Only she could scratch this itch.

**Hope you guys liked it, I felt that I had to tone down the sexual scenes, so now I shall just imply until I find myself in the right mood to right it again :D I felt that after I got such a great response from you guys that I should update it...I just hope that you like it and you all get a BIG ****Thankyou for the positive response (Whoooo 9 Reviews, 7 Alerts and 1 Favourite!!!!) Thankyou, thankyou, thankyou...lets just all review this chapter and try and make more than 9 reviews!!**

**Mwah**

**Queen of the Scoubies**


	3. Chapter 3

"My itch" the pale boy mumbled to himself as he sat poised on the couch, pillow behind his head and blanket over his knees, "My itch needs to be scratched."

Reclined on the soft cushions on the couch, he remained where she had left him; poised beneath the heavy woollen blankets waiting for her to re-enter his sight. The minutes seemed like hours; every last second dragging through time since she left him. Every sound she made rang through his ears; every breath she took seemed to suck from his own lungs. He could barely wait for her; he ached to find her, search for her and to make her his own again, but he knew that he must wait. She had to come back; it was inevitable; she would come back to him in good time. In good time she would scratch his urgent itch, in good time a love potion won't be needed. So patiently, he waited.

When she walked through the door, he felt as though he was about to pass out from delight. His heart was thumping quicker than ever before, his eyes felt glued open, his lips remained intimately closed. Reaching to remove the weight of the woollen blanket he felt his hands shaking and quickly formed a fist to hide his nervousness. Taking deep breaths, he willed himself to calm down, to not stress. He had, after all, done this before, only last night, this was nothing new to him; she still loved him like she did yesterday. Letting the blanket slide ceremoniously to the floor, he swung his bare feet onto the cold stone floors, relishing in the fact that she would soon be his. Soon it would be her naked flesh pressed against the very floor his feet were resting on; soon they would be together like never before.

He could see her moving closer to him, he could hear the whisper of her footsteps; the sound of her heart beating as it dexterously pumped blood through her body. Every breath that she took rattled his very own; every movement she made pushed their bodies closer together. As she walked across the room, he was hypnotised by the way her hair bounced with every step; how the light emitted from the fire in the hearth highlighted the different colours in her eyes. His eyes were drawn to the way the top button on her shirt was undone and how her sleeves were rolled up to show her white unmarked arms; his hands throbbed to touch where her skirt had slid down to rest on her hips; to feel the milky white skin showing between the material of her clothes.

Her stockinged feet stepped even closer, and he felt as though he could take it no more. He could now smell her perfume as it lingered in the air around her; he was mesmerised by her, he needed to touch her, to feel her, anything, he just needed be near her. He needed her like he had never needed before; nothing could substitute for her, not the most beautiful woman in the world, not the largest sum of money; she was all he wanted, all he needed. He wanted to feel her pushed up against him; he wanted to feel her breath on his skin. He wanted to have her mouth on his; he wanted to be inside of her again.

Reaching out to touch her, his breath caught in his throat when she pulled away. Her body awkwardly leaned away from his touch, as though rejecting the thought that he could, would, touch her. Looking deep into her eyes as he reached for her again, leaning forward slightly, but he saw nothing more than the hate that once resided there. Loathing lay deep within her gaze as she looked down at him with discontent, her entire demeanour had changed. It was as though the potion had stopped working, which was impossible; it simply could not have occurred. It was supposed to stay active for another day; he was meant to have her for longer than this. She was still supposed to be his, she was still supposed to love him, feel for him; not hate him.

"How could you?" she asked as she stood beyond his reach, her hands on her hips, "How could you do this to me? To us?"

He was befuddled by her words, by her actions, by her. It was simply impossible that she would know about the potion; impossible that she would no longer be effected by its powerful persuasion. She should be melting into his touch, sighing as his eyes travelled over her sumptuous flesh. Instead, it was as if she had known all along; as if she had been hiding her actions behind the potion she never consumed. As though she wanted to blame her actions on something, someone else, but that was wrong. She had eaten the chocolates, he saw the empty packet in the bin; he had felt her body beneath his own only twenty-four hours ago.

Knowing he would get no where by arguing with her, he decided to agree that he had done something, because after all, he had. She would never discover that he had used a potion; she would never suspect a thing. More than likely, she thinks he was off with another girl, some slut that worships him the way she should, so he decided to plead for mercy. He needed to pledge his forgiveness, use sweet words; anything to make her forget, anything to get her back within his reach.

"I thought of us Hermione," he replied his eyes intently boring into hers, "I want you, I need you — I love you."

As these words left his mouth, tears formed in her eyes but were quickly replaced with passion as she waved her arms in desperation; her brows furrowing together as she stared at him with disbelief. Her mouth was twitching at the corners, and her chest was moving deeply as she breathed in the same air as him. Lifting her hands several times, she moved forward slightly, indecisively moving closer to him. He knew he had done it, just those three little words that every girl wanted to hear had fixed his dilemma. There was no need for tears, no need for begging; his good ole Malfoy charm had prevailed again. She was his.

"Us? — You love me?" she whispered, her full lips moving around each word as she continued to stare into his eyes.

As she moved closer still, her scent was slowly driving him insane. He hadn't contemplated this in his plan, he hadn't realised she would want this slow. He had just presumed she would want fast, rough sex, none of this 'love' stuff that girls swoon over. He needed her now, not in fifteen minutes, there was no time to kiss her softly, to tickle her neck, fondle her; he was desperate. The blood was flowing through his body, thumping in his head, and pulsating in his penis. His throat was closing in angst; waiting for her, making it hard to breathe, making him want her more. Focusing on her, he could feel his stomach muscles contracting, and he knew to never use that four letter word again.

Watching as she painfully leaned closer, he waited until he could count the freckles on her nose before pushing himself up and pressing his lips against hers. As he gently pushed her lips apart with his tongue, he let his hands pull her closer to him, letting them tantalisingly free her skin from their binds. As each piece of clothing was taken from her skin, his hands roamed over the exposed skin, feeling the smoothness of her membrane, his mouth never leaving hers. Above him, she seemed oblivious to her near naked state, unaware of what she was doing. She barely seemed to notice her bra missing and his hands cupping her breasts; or her hands pulling down the zipper on his pants.

Pulling his mouth away from hers, he titled his head and scraped his teeth along the exposed skin of her neck, making her moan as she rubbed her hands down his chest and beneath his boxers. As her hands ran over his pulsing penis, grabbing it softly in her small hand; he stifled a moan before roughly discarding of the remainder of her clothes and plunging his fingers into the wetness between her legs. As his fingers trailed as soft as feathers in places she never imagined to be touched, her fingers flexed around him before she withdrew her hand to remove the final piece of material stopping them.

Before the waistband of his boxers had reached his ankles, he had her legs spread and was poising above her, teasing her. The want was in her eyes as she stared up at him incredulously, the need was in her hips as they pushed upwards to take him into her. Pressing his lips back down onto hers, he let his tip rest against her opening, making her wait, pulling back every time she moved closer. Smirking as he looked down at her, he knew he had power over her, she wanted him the way he needed her, and he could walk away right now; unwrap himself from her arms and calmly walk away leaving her like that. But, offcourse he wouldn't, couldn't, do that after waiting for so long.

Waiting until he felt he could wait no more, he brusquely entered her, pushing himself as far as he could go, until he was buried in her, unable to go any further. He watched as her eyes rolled back into her head, as she gasped with surprise; then sighed when he shifted. Slowly he withdrew, careful to never completely leave her, and drove himself into her again and again, watching as she thrashed beneath him, her chest heaving as she gasped for air. Continuing, he let himself go; his hands were resting on either side of her as he thrust into her, not bothering to do anything but to please himself. He needed to do this; it was for their own good.

_**Thirty minutes later…**_

He was sedately lying beneath her, his breath still slightly laboured; his itch satisfactorily scratched. Her legs were tangled among his own, his arms possessively held around her waist. Around them, clothing was strewn on the floor where it had fallen haphazardly in their frenzied mating. The pillows once donned on the couch had been discarded on the other side of the room, thrown harshly at the wall when they had gotten in the way; the blanket remained on the floor untouched by the horny teens. Together, they looked like the perfect couple; a couple that had been in love for years; it didn't look like the kind of love manufactured in a cauldron.

Looking up at her, he inspected her face, peering into her sleepy brown eyes as her head rested on his chest and her once smooth hair matted dangerously close to his face. He no longer minded her crazy hair that frizzed, or her book-worm ways that never landed her in trouble; they were what made her, just as hating him did. He wouldn't change the way she looked, the way she thought, the way she felt about him when the potion was in affect for anything in this mortal world. They were the perfect pair, they fit together perfectly; their intellect was matched by no others, their beauty never rivalled; she should in every reality be his; every reality except this.

In every sense it was wrong for her to be lying here; wrong for her to think she was hopelessly in love with him. It just wasn't right, but he needed her. Without her, he was never going to be whole, without her, he would just die. To let her go would kill him slowly; twisting his insides slowly until the love had bled slowly from his damaged heart leaving nothing but hate. To live without her was unthinkable; there was no way it could ever happen. There was no way he could ever give her up, no way that he could let her go. He loved her and she had to love him back.

**Howdly there:D I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter too and don't forget to review, I've been sooo pleased with the response I've gotten on this story, so I shall like to thank all of my reviewers, and those who put it on alerts and favourites :D (23 REVIEWS!! 6 FAV'S!!!! 15 ALERTS!!!!), so I now shall name those to whom I hold gratitude too...weeping eyes of babylon, socks and tea cosys, Glamrockprincess, Dark x Sorrow, DaOnleeSam, cutiexoxo, blondeferretgirl, Panther Eyes, superuki, mysticpammy, Blood-in-the-Stars, Viktor Krums lazyllama101, blondie 101, laffytaffy, Sam, dee, Rae, Dizi 85, dracoshoney1...thankyou for reviewing my story soo far!!!! I love you all!! (hopefully I didn't miss anyone...)**

**Mwah**

**Queen of the Scoubies**


	4. Chapter 4

"I must control this itch" he mumbled to himself as he breathed deeply, "Granger needs to be mine".

A week now had passed and the potion had worn, she was no longer was his own, no more did she yearn for him; yet it seemed he sought her more than before. He would ache for her when others were afar; stare at her when no one was watching. At night he would think of her as he lay in his bed; he would fall asleep thinking of her, dream about her and wake up throbbing for her. During classes his attention never strayed far from her, he watched her as she jotted down notes, licked his lips when she would chew on the end of her quill; smirk in recollection as she would brush her hair impatiently from her face. As he saw her in the corridors he would envisage dragging her into dark corners and ravaging her body; when she was with others he wanted to rip them apart limb from limb. Every time he closed his eyes he saw her face. He wanted to touch her bushy hair again, to feel it slide through his fingers; he wanted to feel her lips pressed snug against his own. Holding her hand in his as they walked through the corridors was a dream to never come true; holding her before an audience, kissing her without the fear of someone watching seemed to be a chapter from a romance novel. The thought of being able to freely gaze into her caramel-brown eyes had him in delight, and the thought of having her body flush up against his own had him in ecstasy.

His feelings had not faded as he once thought they would, the potion had simply made them worse. He had tasted the forbidden fruit and wanted more. He wanted to taste it again and again, he wanted to feel its skin against his lips; he wanted to breathe in its scent. He wanted to be intoxicated by it, by her. There was nothing more in this world that he wanted more, nothing, no one who could satisfy his hunger for her. She was the only one that could scratch his itch, and the only one that didn't want him.

When he saw her smile, he wished she was smiling at him; when she cried he wanted nothing more than to hide her away from the cruel world. Her laugh sounded like music in his ears; her desperate screams had him running to her rescue. When her brows furrowed in concentration he melted; when she nibbled the end of her quill he wanted to gather her up in his arms and take her for his own. He forever wanted to be there to soothe her fears, to brush away her tears and take away her problems. He was drowning in her every emotion; every thought was captured by her. He needed her and she had no idea.

It seemed only moments ago that she was his; that she was under him moaning his name and now she gave nothing more than a glare. This was not enough, he needed more; there was no question about it. He loved everything about her; her hair, her voice, her body; he loved that she was so much better than him. But she would never see the good in him, no matter how hard he tried to show her. It was inevitable. She would always see the Lucius Malfoy in him; she would always see the bad in him. Never would she see him, Draco Malfoy, as a changed individual.

He needed to show her how he was now, how he had changed, how he had improved. He wouldn't be able to use his normal charms; chocolates wouldn't work a second time, she didn't drink liquor, she was too practical for flowers and love-notes. There was however, that foundation she formed in fourth year, Spew It Up, or something like that. He could offer to donate money; he could be the funding that lobbied her campaign against House Elf enslavement. That would show he cares, that he has compassion for things not involving himself. It would demonstrate his change, that he didn't consider pure-bloods above everyone else.

Now he just had to wait for her, he had to sit in the Great Hall until he saw her enter and then offer her his donation. She would have to take it, if all else failed, she would just try and pay the elves with it, preposterous idea, but she would try. Smirking at the thought of House Elves on beach holidays, he saw her enter the great hall, a beam of light from the enchanted ceiling seeming to follow her to her seat, as though guiding him to his prize.

"Granger, I need to speak to you." He stuttered, suddenly finding it hard to speak in front of her, his cool manner seeming to disappear as soon as he began to speak.

"Very well, you have two minutes," She replied curtly not once looking up from the newspaper that had immediately landed before her.

"I wish to make a donation to your Elf foundation," he blurted out quietly not wishing others to hear of his involvement in her thing.

"S.P.E.W.? The Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare?" she questioned before sharply asking "How much?"

"Would One-Hundred-Thousand Galleons be enough to start you off?" he asked coyly, "Why don't we meet in the common room in thirty minutes to settle this?"

_**Thirty Minutes Later…**_

They were sitting apart, like bookends on the ends of the same couch. She was pressed up far away from him; he was leaning towards her, his arm resting comfortably on the plush pillows lining the back of the couch. Her breath was shallow, her eyes quickly darting around the room, always coming back to him as she wrung her hands nervously in her lap. He knew her hair was tied back at the nape of her neck, he knew she had a book hidden down the side of the couch. He could tell her fingers were aching to feel the aged parchment lined with faded script; he just knew she didn't want to speak.

Staring determinately into the flames of the hearth, he tried to put his mind wherever she was not. He thought of tropical islands, the hot sandy deserts, the pleasure of naked women, but every time she was there. He ached for her body, craved for her touch; throbbed thinking of her scent. He could remember her taste, the feel of her skin touching his own and could feel himself growing. His breathing hastened, his heart rate soared; he needed to get her out of his mind. He needed to scratch that itch one last time. He knew she would never stay his, the potion would never last forever, but perhaps he would get one last chance. One last chance to scratch that persistent itch named Hermione Granger.

Moving closer, he slowly closed the gap between them until he could feel the heat from her body and the breath from her lungs. Stringing his arm around her neck he moved his lips to meet the skin stretched over her collarbone until the hair that strung down her back in waves of curls rubbed against his arm as she turned around to face him. Her eyes searched his face, her lips tantalisingly moved as she seemed to be searching for words; hunting for her way to say no. As he watched, he yearned to lean close and capture her lips with his; to feel their soft, silky texture against his own. Closing his eyes, he leant forward, desperate to fulfil his dream, his destiny almost; but to his amazement never met it.

Opening his eyes, he saw her pressed away from him, her mouth seemingly miles away. "What's wrong?" he asked, concern thickly dripping from his tongue.

As her eyes cast downwards, she whispered the words he hated to hear, "I'm sorry Draco, but I just can't. I can't do this with you."

Lifting her chin with his almost-spindly fingers, he looked her in the eye, his stormy-grey orbs focusing fully on the pools of caramel-brown that made him weak, before he angrily spat words at her, words that he had never inclined to articulate to her before, "What do you mean you can't do this with me? We've done it twice now, do you not remember wench! Two times you fucked me, and you're not fucking me over now!"

Flames licked menacingly at the edges of her eyes as her eyes narrowed almost to slits, "Me fucking you over? I'm sorry, I don't remember feeding you chocolates laced with love-potion. Or was it lust? Let me go check, I had it tested Malfoy, I have the results!" she ranted, her cheeks blushing with anger as she looked upon him with remorseless fury.

As realisation spread across his face, his anger disappeared leaving nothing but bare shock. He couldn't believe it, that this girl before him, the girl that he had desired, chose to hide behind the truth. That she acted as though under enchantment to hide her emotions in a very Slytherin way. He almost had trouble believing it, but it made sense, Hermione would never take a chance to that scale, she would never trust him; to her, he would always be the Death-Eaters son.

When his eyes spread wide and his jaw fell slack from disbelief, his grip on her shoulders slackened slightly enough for her to wrench herself free, "You didn't eat the chocolates?" he muttered, his voice audible only for her to hear in the empty room.

Scowling, she looked at him, vengeance clearly portraying in her eye, her voice lowering to a sneer, "You actually thought that I would so daft to eat what you fed me; that I wouldn't think before I acted? I knew what I was doing every moment that we were together Malfoy, and I know, that you don't deserve me."

Taking a deep breath, he had to stop. He needed to think, he needed to calm himself down. There was so much to consider, so many consequences if he told her just what he needed to tell her. If he told her; she could think of him as weak, as a stalker, pervert, freak, anything. She could hate him for the rest of her life; wish death upon him, wreak her revenge, or get him expelled. He had no idea, she was unpredictable, crazy in every sense of the word and that's why he loved her. Yes, he loved her that was for sure; he had to tell her, screw the consequences. When he tells her she will swoon into his arms and fall deeper in love with him than before. When they had finished school, they would get married, have children, retire, grow old, and eventually they would die together. Forever they would be together. Forever she will be his.

"But Hermione —" he started as she glowered at him unrelentingly "—I think I love you Hermione. I need you more than the oxygen I am forced to breathe. I want you more than I have ever wanted before." his throat had constricted making it hard to breathe; his pulse had increased pulsing in his head as he tried to focus on anything but her. The way her hair was shining in the firelight was stunning, her perfume intoxicating, everything about her made him ache all over. He wanted her and there was no way around it.

"If you loved me you wouldn't have done that!" Hermione exclaimed, her hands gesturing wildly around her, demonstrating her furious disbelief. He could see her chest heaving beneath her uniform, her manicured hands now rested in her lap fidgeting with the hem of her skirt; folding and unfolding the edge continually.

"I did what I had to do to get you! I needed you to love me for a moment, I _needed_ you Hermione!" he pleaded, his eyebrows scrunched together in the middle, his lips turned downwards. "I knew when I first saw you that you had to be mine; you are my sedation, you are my life; you are the solution to my endless itch. I love you too much to not have you now Hermione." He finished as his hands gently stroked her own which he now held loosely and his eyes intensely staring into her own.

Watching as she took a deep breath, he waited, with his breathing laboured in anticipation for her confession of her love for him. He wanted to hear her tell him how much she loved him, how long she had waited to hear those words tumble from his mouth. Instead he heard what he had not expected, what he did not want to hear.

"I'm sorry Draco, but I don't think I can love you, yet."

**Hello all, I hope you enjoyed that chapter and review it! I'm so pleased 35 reviews so far, 27 alerts, and 11 favourites...**

**What i would really like is that I could get about 20 reviews for this chapter...that would be great, afterall 27 of you have it on alerts, and I have tonnes of hits, like 3375 so far, so please REVIEW after you've read this and tell me if you like it or not :D**

**Much Love**

**Queen of the Scoubies**


	5. Chapter 5

"She said she didn't love me _yet_," Draco muttered as he sat on the couch where she had left him only hours before.

Sitting shrouded in self-thought he was oblivious to all around him, the fire he stared at silently crackled, the birds outside sung in whispers. The familiar couch he perched on enclosed him in its dated material, while the stone walls slowly moved inwards, crowding him inside the usually spacious room. The brightly coloured plush pillows were digging into his back as though sharpened knives determined to be his demise; and his head thumped relentlessly to the beat of his racing heart. He knew he could make her love him, it wouldn't be hard. He could prove his love to her, he could make her bristle with jealously; he could blind her with affection; and then he could take it all. Just like that. He had the power, the ambition; and most importantly, he had the need.

How he was going to do this stumped him though. His mind was befuddled when he was in her presence, entranced by her every word and fascinated with her every movement. For the first time ever, he was outsmarted by a girl; she had pulled his strings, and dragged his vulnerable body him along until he was helplessly in love with her. He needed to think of something smart, something that would fool her as she had fooled him. He was to take his matter to the public eye, he had tried everything else. Giving her a love potion had got him no further than a few good lay's on the very lounge he sat on. Admitting his emotions in private dealt nothing more than a blow to his ego as she openly rejected him for trying to render her incapable. For more, he needed to push her as none had pushed before. Sure Krum took her to the Yule Ball, but that was nothing, all he did was dance with her. He was going to kiss her, he was going to hold her hand, hug her, walk her to class and he was going to shower her with his emotions until she realised that she loved him back. He was going to outsmart the smartest witch of the age.

He needed her that bad that it actually hurt, but wanted her heart more than he could previously comprehend. He wanted her to love him as he loved her. He wanted to see the back of her head when she wakes up beside him every morning; he wanted to feel her pressed against him as she lay in slumber beside him. He wanted to be able to lie there and watch as her chest rises and falls with every breath and he wanted her dreams filled with him, as his are of her. He wanted to shower with her for hours, and then spend days with her alone locked in their room. He wanted to surprise her every day with mountains of gifts and watch her face in amazement as he pleasured her every night, pushing her body to new extremes. He wanted more than anything for her to be his.

He knew that he had to make this work. He had too; he couldn't survive if he knew she couldn't, wouldn't be his. It would be unbearable if he had to sit there and watch her with someone else, holding their hand, kissing, hugging them. It would kill him to see her everyday and not have her. He just had to have her, it's destined that they are to fall in love, get married and have children. They are the perfect couple; two former enemies bound together by their love. It would tear him apart; destroy every fibre of his being if he had to sit there and know that she was spending her nights in another mans bed. He needed this plan to work; he had to have her to scratch his itch. He needed her above all else.

_**One Week Later…**_

Strolling through the corridors lit by the fresh morning light, he was preparing himself for the day that he would conquer the heart of one Hermione Granger. Adrenaline was pumping through his veins, his eyes were peeled wide open and his mind was ready to battle. He had his plans, but they weren't definite, his impulses could change his mind, she could randomly change everything by her mood. He had to make compromises to make this work; the goal after all would never be predictable. She's like a wildcat; impulsive, short-tempered, and amazingly beautiful, ready for the taking. His for the taking.

Leaning against the cool stone wall, he closed his eyes as and listened to the muffled voices coming from within the Great Hall, knowing that hers would be amongst them, as she laughed and talked with her friends. On the back of his eyelids, he watched their lives together speed past almost in a blur, but slowing to show him snippets. He watched as she walked down the aisle to join him in holy matrimony; he heard her screams of pleasure on their wedding night and her painful cries during the labour of their first child. He watched as he taught their son how to fly his first broomstick and when their daughter read her first novel. Their life together was to be beautiful and full of love during the time of war and he had to find a way to make her see this; to feel how he was feeling right now. She had to see how beautiful their children were going to be, how strong their love will be, and how happy they're going to be.

Taking a deep breath, he dragged open the heavy door that would lead to the rest of his life and walked inside with his heart thumping loudly in his throat. She was there, sitting at the Gryffindor table with her friends, laughing, talking and looking more beautiful than he could remember. Her normally bushy hair seemed to have been tamed into a loose pony-tail, her school uniform pressed and her smile lit up her face; she was the image of perfection. Resisting the urge to gather her in his arms and kiss her until she was blue in the face, he wandered to his own house table. With each step away from her, his desire grew stronger until he could barely contain it; he had to start now. The plan was to commence this moment.

Standing up took most of his courage as he looked across the hall and watched as her lips stretched back into a heart-throbbing smile. She paused, her fork laden with food, half-way to her lips as she stopped to listen as Potter whisper something in her ear and he could feel his breathing expedite with jealousy. Very soon, when he walked across this hall, Potter wouldn't be the one whispering sweet nothings into her ear; she wouldn't be smiling at his joke. Her attention would be focused on him, as he kissed her soundlessly before all of those sitting right here in this very dining hall. Walking quickly now, he neared the Gryffindor table and swiftly made his way to her. She hadn't seen him though, or was pretending not too as she ate her meal; and her friends were absorbed in their own food to acknowledge the presence of the boy they had always hated. He was like a ghost, unseen and invisible, until he surprised them all, and he was certainly going to surprise them.

Reaching out, he placed his hand on her small shoulder until she turned and he watched in amusement as her caramel-brown eyes grew round with surprise, before he gently pulled her to her feet. Stepping over the hard wooden seat, the only obstacle that separated them, she cautiously asked before pulling herself slightly from his grasp "What do you want Malfoy?" Hearing her voice did nothing but enforce his reasoning for walking across the hall. Her voice was like silk and sounded like music as his name slipped off her tongue easier than he slipped inside of her.

"Why Miss Granger, I want you." He replied, looking down at her passionately as he felt the desire burning deep below his empty stomach. Grasping her shoulders lightly, he pulled her to him and captured her plump lips with his own, just as the student body turned to watch as her two friends stood up to defend their friend against their enemy. Blocking out the cries of outrage around them, he focused on her, noticing her pink lips were softer than he remembered, and as he pushed his down upon them, she opened her mouth to let his tongue silkily slip inside. Feeling his heart-rate increase from her silent admission for her lust, he let himself taste her, finding he liked this even more than before. Her mouth was warm and sweet from the pancakes she just ate, her tongue fighting for dominance as she kissed back with all her might. He was in heaven, in ecstasy as their tongues battled, their saliva combining, and her tongue in his mouth.

What felt like hours later, she pulled away, struggling to catch her breath as she gazed into his eyes, not noticing her friends screaming their outrage behind her. She had only eyes for him, and that was just how he wanted it. This was the moment he had been hoping for; the moment that she would ignore her friends to stare at him before the entire school. Soon she would be holding his hand, and walking to class with him as though they were never enemies. As soon as she surrendered her mind, body and soul, he would finally be satisfied and the itch would be scratched.

**Hello all!! So sorry about the length of time between updates, but I'm a busy girl now I have to work...Anyways, I hope you like it, and leave a review cuz I love reviews, and Have a HARRY EASTER!!!**

**Mwah**

**Queen of the Scoubies**


	6. Chapter 6

Walking through the halls, it was hard not to think of their last encounter, the moment she had declared her love through a heated kiss before the student body

The situation wasn't as ideal as first thought, but he was here now, his itch almost sated. The woman of his dreams had fallen under his spell and as he walked the familiar Hogwarts corridors, he couldn't help but feel excited. This was the first day he was allowed to escort her to class, the first class they shared, and her class ended soon. Racing through the corridors, he found himself almost short of breath as he watched her fly from her classroom, spinning around searching for his luminous blonde hair and serious grey eyes.

His breath was slightly ragged as he approached her spinning form, watching her as she craned her head above the crowd; her robes flying around her, and her bag gyrating around her dangerously. It was entrancing to watch her heavenly curls soar daintily around her face, dragging behind her exquisite mind. As she turned to face him her shining brown eyes fixed on him, and he could feel his stomach flip while his heart stopped beating. Could this heavenly creature truly be his own?

Her face was flushed with enthusiasm, her lips parted to accommodate her gasping chest; as her eyes shone with delight when she reached for his hand. Suddenly nervous, his pulse was racing as he wiped his sweaty hands on his fine woven robe before strolling up beside her, smirking to the boys surrounding them watching with envy. Taking her hand in his, he smiled at her, before shrugging her heavily laden bag onto his shoulder and leading her through the crowd. Shouts surrounded them requesting a repeat performance, asking for pictures, or to simply shake his hand. But that wasn't going to happen, it couldn't. There was no need, for now she was his woman; mind, body and soul.

Walking to class was almost a battle, his body going wild every time he caught her scent, seeing her breasts bounce slightly under her shirt, feeling her hand squeeze his as she walked beside him. He knew this class would be torture as she sat next to him, her body close, feeling the heat of her flesh so close to his hands. Knowing that he could reach out and touch her, even stroke her to the point of no return. Yet, the consequences would be dire; he understood her study came first; even before him. Barely controlling his urges, he kept his hands still, one gripping her bag, and the other her soft manicured hand. He knew that with one wrong move he could lose her, and he couldn't deal with that.

Nearing the classroom, he was almost unable to move, his erection was hard, almost noticeable through his slim-fitting robes. Leaning almost too casually against the corridor wall, he slumped forwards shifting himself through the flimsy fabric trying to make himself more comfortable before she noticed. As successful as he could be in a busy walkway, he opened his arms wide capturing her in a bone crushing hug as she waited beside him for the classroom door to open. As her body crushed to his, he felt her face tilt upwards, and her lips gently graze his neck. Surely she would not start such a process in such a public place he thought; he always considered her to be such model student. Yet as her lips attacked his neck a little more savagely, he condoned themselves to a possible detention, and returned her vigour with his own lips. Before they knew it, they're tongues were in a battle of dominance and crowds had gathered around them.

Pulling apart almost reluctantly, they gazed around the crowd, wondering how the word of Hogwarts could travel so quickly when the Professor arrived. Her stomping cane and flowing magenta robes forced the eyes of the crowd away from the entangled couple, as they watched her approach them; her hair seeming to cackle from electricity. Slowly he separated himself from the love of his life as the Professor got closer, her eyes narrowing in distaste as she took in their situation. With a flick of her wand, the couple found themselves drawn apart like repelling magnets, ripped from the warm embrace of one another.

"Such behaviour is not acceptable at Hogwarts, and each of you will receive two nights detention…Separately" she calmly spoke before releasing the spell and walking into the derelict classroom. "This session has now started".

_**5 hours later…**_

Classes were over and neither had to serve their detentions for another week, so as he strolled lonely from his last class, he hoped that their encounter with Professor Fructavia had not destroyed what they had. That moment in the corridor was perfect, her lips fit flawlessly to his, warm and moist as their tongues battled. She was wondrous. Her body fit faultlessly to his, and her mind was more than a match for his own, she was the perfect woman, and she was his.

Approaching their common room door, he wondered if she was there, and hoped she would be waiting. Checking his appearance in the reflection of a nearby suit of armour, he flattened his slightly ruffled hair and straightened his clothing before continuing down the corridor. Muttering the password, he passed through the narrow passageway, and into his current home. Nervously glancing around, he saw that the couches were empty and dumped his bag by the table before heading to his room disappointed and downhearted. Had that Professor scared away what he had fought so valiantly for? He had planned for months, waited weeks for her to succumb to his advances, and this bitch, this woman thought it was okay to take it from him? Furiously he stomped into his room, slamming the solid oak door behind him and flung his Slytherin tie to the floor.

Dragging his feet, he made his way across the room and saw something he was not expecting. There she was, draped across his bed in nature's true form, her naked breasts rose quickly with nerves or anticipation, he wasn't sure, but she was there waiting for him. His angry brows quickly relaxed as he took another measured step towards her, she really did love him, she cared for him; she wanted him. Looking up at him with curiosity, she beckoned him forward as he loosened his robes and unbuttoned his crisp white shirt. Her entrancing brown eyes followed his every move as he leisurely stripped, revealing the body she craved, the body she longed to touch.

Fighting the urge to hasten, he dragged his eyes over her glorious body, from the painted toenails on her feet, to the glistening strands of hair spread around her on his luxurious green bed covers. Her fingers twitched wanting to touch him, and he smirked, his fingers resting on the band of his silver boxers, slowly pulling them over his hips revealing the flesh she was really aching to see.

"You want some of this love?" he asked pushing his hips forward as she nodded her head hungrily, licking her lips in anticipation. Stepping forward just a little bit more, he held himself, gently caressing it, "Tell me what you want".

"I want you," she hoarsely whispered, licking her lips yet again, "I want you inside of me, in my mouth, in all of me".

Shuffling millimetres at a time, he moved closer again to her again, "I can accommodate that" he whispered, and perched on the edge of the bed.

Watching intently, he watched her cautiously sit up, and her head nervously drop towards his lap. She meant what she said, as she licked up the length of him, and gradually took him in her mouth. He felt as though fireworks were exploding inside his mind, behind his eyelids, the moment she sucked, pulling him slightly further in until her nose was butting against the curly blonde hair of his groin. Groaning, he fought the urge to grab her head and assist her, choosing instead to grab the covers in the mercy of her deeply arousing actions.

As quickly as she started, she stopped, pulling her mouth from around him "I want you to do that to me," she requested as she lay back down, her legs splayed "Please, I want to feel how you felt"

Collecting himself, he moved between her legs and could smell her arousal immediately. It was beautiful, like her, as he looked up between the valley of her breasts and into her eyes he lowered his head. His mouth found her warm, moist flesh and attacked with his tongue pulling moans from deep within her. Drawing his tongue up and down the warm flesh, he circled around her making her gasp with pleasure, her breathing erratic as she threw her head back uncontrollably groaning.

"In me now," she gasped her voice husky as she tried to control her body, her chest heaving erratically above him.

Looking up at her, he lifted his face, trailing his tongue up her body, pausing at each breast, licking, petting, soothing each nipple, allowing her to compose herself. Travelling up her neck, he sucked on the sensitive skin, leaving blotchy red marks before licking up to her soft and supple lips. Although dry, he moistened them with his tongue before delving into her mouth, deviously grinding his hips into her own, working her into a frenzy of need.

He could feel her hands pushing against his hips, pulling him into her, but tensed his legs waiting ruthless minutes until she ceased. Slowly he lowered himself, moving his arms to lean on her hips, forcing her to lie still as he slowly penetrated her, sheathing himself completely in her warm most inner flesh. Bucking upwards as soon as his arm left her hips, he withdrew sharply before pushing in again meeting her hips almost desperately. This was what he had truly wanted all along. For her to want him as he always wanted her, not drugged nor manipulated; simply pure lust that initiated from her inner core.

Pushing into her again, he could see her beginning to shake, her breasts were moving in all directions like jelly and he could feel her muscles contract around him and watched as her eyes rolled back into her head. This is what it's supposed to be he thought as he pushed into her again, feeling himself being squeezed and pulled from her convulsions. He wanted to last longer; he wanted her to feel nothing but bliss for as long as possible, but it was too much. Overwhelmed, he fell atop of her, sweaty and exhausted as she tenderly kissed the pale tender flesh of his neck.

Regrettably, he rolled off her slim body but pulled her flush against him in one movement. Her breathing was still harsh, her chest moved rapidly against his own as he lazily traced circles on her stomach. This woman was all he wanted, she made him happy. She would be his forever; there was no doubt about it. She was the only woman that could cure his itch.

**Hi, I'm sorry about the year-long gap of updating, and am sure many of you have forgotten this story even existed, but I have had a difficult year involving illness and now study! (First day off in forever!!) Anywhoos, I would just like to thank everyone for the reviews, they make me feel special!!**

**Queen of the Scoubies**


	7. Chapter 7

The itch was gone; perhaps gone forever while she rested in his arms.

He could remember it all as though it had only happened yesterday. The violent itch forming all over his body; the pain to have her. He could remember the plans he made; the plots he concocted to feel her within the circle of his arms. He knew the potion was wrong; and he knew it was wrong to plant those lies; but he couldn't find the strength to say no.

She was sleeping at the moment; her warm moist breath fluttering against his cheek as his arm rested across her bare skin. His fingers lightly brushed across her back and he heard her sigh in her sleep as she shuffled closer to him in her sleep. Moving his hand; he brushed his hand across her hair and leaned closer to kiss the nape of her neck. Inhaling; her scent was intoxicating; fresh, feminine and his. Rolling her over; she was putty in his arms; pliable into his favourite position. He loved it when she was laying on her back; her arms raised above her head and he legs slightly splayed. Her hair fanned out on the pillow behind her head; gently he lay over her body; moving in to kiss her mouth gently before rolling over her to the other side of the bed and leaving. He was leaving her before he could hurt her further.

He had to do it now before he changed his mind; before he could backtrack on his decision. It was hard; something he had never had to do before; something he never wanted to do again. It was heart wrenching; it was devastating leaving the one person he knew he would be able to love. Pulling on his robes, he strode to the door reaching out for the handle after catching a lone tear gliding down his cheek. Taking one last look; he could see her pale skin shining in the moonlight; her chest rising and falling with the movement of her lungs. Her eyelids fluttered and her lips parted slightly; her pale pink tongue darting out between them to moisten before she spoke.

"Draco?" she murmured as the looked around the room; her eyes still half laden with sleep slowly coming to rest on his clothed body at the door, "Where are you going?".

"To the showers" he shortly answered furious with himself for not having the courage to tell her.

He was ashamed, he was a coward, he did not have the strength to live without her. His previous resolve had washed away as he glumly opened the door and headed for the showers. He knew she would be furious if she left; that she would never forgive him. She would always be the woman he loved; the only woman who could scratch his itch. He knew he could never leave her.

His itch was sated when he was with her.

* * *

I know, poor ending, but I figured that I would finally finish this story! It took me long enough. Only thing about full-time study!! Anywhoos I hope you enjoyed it and very sorry about the extremely long update. Maybe I shall finish some more of my stories off before March and give you all conclusion...But I would love some reviews, its incredibly heartening when you get reviews from people saying that they appreciate you writing, and I know I don't always do it because I'm naughty, but from an 'Authors POV' it is a great commendation for the work you have created. Although not as good as that Distinction you get from Uni!! But you get my drift...

Queen of the Scoubies


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